


The Trouble with Telepaths (for the love of food remix)

by firehawk05



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Cooking, M/M, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-28 21:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15057947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firehawk05/pseuds/firehawk05
Summary: Charles is a single father is already struggling to manage his Life, Laundry and Looking after his telepathic son David.  Then when a fire breaks out in the school canteen, he finds out that he has to take on his son's Lunch as well. Will Love prevail....





	The Trouble with Telepaths (for the love of food remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dedkake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedkake/gifts).
  * Inspired by [for the love of food](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8668126) by [dedkake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedkake/pseuds/dedkake). 



> Author’s notes: It’s gone quite general. And develops more Charles - Raven brother - sister thing as well as Charles as a father thing. Many many thanks to the lovely Raynos for beta-ing this. And detangling plot inconsistencies.
> 
> Key to typography:   
> Inner thoughts are in italics.  
> Telepathic speech is in italics an enclosed in  
> Text messaging is enclosed in [brackets]  
> and ====== indicates a section break

 

“Dad?”  

 

“Yes David?”

 

“Is Mum angry with me?” The boy is curled so tightly he’s doubled up on himself, almost burrowing into the worn out cushions of Charles’ couch.

 

Charles reaches for his son, combing his fingers through dusty blonde hair, trying to coax him out of the sofa's plush embrace. “Why would you think that?”

 

“Because when she was driving me over, I kept hearing her say mean things.  Even if her lips weren’t moving, there wasn’t anyone else in the car so it could only have been her.”

 

Charles tries to keep his voice from shaking, but he has to know.  “What sort of mean things?”

 

“Like if she didn’t have me she wouldn’t keep having to do all these things. Like I was taking up all her time.  But I didn’t actually ask her to do all that. I mean, I can do my own chores and stuff. I can help. Why was she angry with me?” David’s voice sounds very small in the silence of the house and he pulls his knees up to his chest as if to unconsciously make himself take up less space.

 

“Sometimes, we get tired and then we say mean things without really thinking.  It wasn’t your fault. Blue eyes look out from under blond bangs and meet his.  As he continues to project calm and reassurance, David's posture relaxes.  

 

“But, David, I need to ask you a question and I need you to answer as best as you can.  Besides today with Mum, have you heard other voices too?”

 

“Sure,” Radiating a childish pleasure at being asked, David carries on, slowly uncurling, “Like when I’m in class and the teacher is going on and on and the boy in the back row is saying really loudly that everything is boring and how he can’t wait for it to be over…”

 

Then he pauses, eyes troubled.  “Sometimes the voices aren’t so clear. Like now, it sort of feels like you’re worried, but you’re all blurry-like in my head.  Dad, why are you crying?”

 

“Oh David. Give me a moment… I’ll explain.”  Charles looks up and tries to smile, pushing reassurance at his son.  “Because Dad knows what you’ve been hearing.”

 

======

 

Dear Diary,

 

My dad says I have a gift. That the voices I’ve been hearing are other people’s thoughts.  He called it Telepathy and he has it too.

 

It means he can tell what other people are thinking and feeling.  And with time and practice I should be able to do it all the time too.

 

Honestly, it feels like this telepathy thing is more trouble than it's worth.  Because it sounds like as long as I’m thinking it, Dad will hear it. Even if he promised not to listen in.

 

So. I figure. If I’m not thinking it around him, he can’t hear it.

 

I’ll just write it down to get it out of my brain.  

 

Mum was angry when she left me here. Because I bothered her too much.

 

So if I don't have to depend so much on people, they won't get angry and leave.

 

======

 

Charles knows he shouldn’t. For at least two good reasons.  

 

Firstly.  She has her own life to live, ergo he should find another outlet.

 

Secondly, If he sat down for a moment and actually thought things through he’d probably get an answer.  

 

But with his thoughts running around in increasingly panicked circles and an ever growing to do list which seems nigh impossible to complete, it makes perfect sense to opt for the most expedient solution.

 

He also knows he somewhat misses having a conversation with another adult.  Unfortunately for her, Raven is all that remains of his so called social circle which had atrophied after marriage and all but been set fire to after the messy divorce.

 

Having marshaled up enough courage, he picks up the phone and dials a familiar number.  

 

“How is my beautiful, intelligent, amazing sister doing this fine day?”

 

“Cut to the chase, Charles. What do you want this time.” Raven sounds bored.  That tone from her is not unusual these days. In fact it's starting to be her default tone with him. That could mean any number of things, including the likelihood that he’s probably used up all his social credit and that he really needs to get his shit together.  He quashes that particularly poisonous train of thought and soldiers on.

 

“A fire broke out at David’s school canteen so they’re going to be shut for at least a month.”  

 

“And?” He can imagine her eyebrows going up.  

 

“They want the kids to pack lunches from home.”  

 

“Pack him whatever you’re bringing then.”

 

“Raven.  I’m still finishing up the box of breakfast cereal from when David went through his Froot Loop phase.  I pretend the milk in my office fridge is for tea but…”

 

“God, Charles, how much did you buy?”  

 

“It was on sale. And to be fair, he was so happy when he saw the huge box, I didn’t even realize that one kilo of cereal would last so very very long. And then he got tired of it after two breakfasts.”

 

“I don’t even know what to say anymore.” The voice on the other end sounds resigned.  That’s his best guess though. Telepathy would have been useful here.

 

“Anyway when the others are out at lunch I eat in my cubicle, hunched over my keyboard.”

 

He very carefully omits all the times he’s been called away for some errand or other and has come back the next day to a foul smelling bowl of rainbow colored mush.

 

_Well done Charles.  Thank God you can’t accidentally bleed thoughts through the phone lines. Which may well be the best modern invention ever.  Use it._

 

“No wonder you’re loopy.”

 

“Very funny, Raven. What do I do?”

 

Something else in the room tugs at his already fragmenting attention.  Something important. Something that, for the life of him, he can’t quite remember.  Charles cradles the cordless phone in the crook of his neck and wheels himself around.

 

“I don't know. Sandwiches? I mean. Like two pieces of bread and filling. How wrong can that go?”

 

“I swear you’re a genius. My savior.” His nose clues him in as he finally registers the overflowing laundry basket. “Damn it.  I seem to have missed laundry day?” He can almost see his sister rolling her eyes at his swearing.

 

“Really, Charles?  You sure you’ll be alright?”  She sounds vaguely concerned he thinks.  But he really shouldn’t be leaning so much on her.

 

“Look Raven, I’m really sorry but … I just needed help with my thinking for a bit.  But you’re a genius. Love you! Gotta go.”

 

“Seriously.  Any time.”

 

He waits till the line goes dead before slumping forwards in his chair, resting his aching head on his knees. The phone clatters to the ground.

 

_Breathe, Charles. Deep breaths.  You can do this._

 

_We just need to break things down into small steps.  First. Laundry. And then if we’re lucky, we’ll have a tiny bit of time to make a supermarket run before picking David up._

 

======

 

Dear Diary,

 

Living with Dad is messier without Mum.  Plus, he seem sad and distracted all the time. At least when my telepathy works.  

 

Then again.  Dad is a telepath too.  I think he wasn’t joking when he promised never to listen to my thoughts without my permission. I guess he just happened to finally do the laundry that day.

 

I wonder if he realized that I’ve been trying to pick the least crumpled of my T shirts to wear to school and that I haven’t had my jeans washed in forever. I’m not complaining. But it is starting to bother me.

 

Oh well. I am this close to figuring out the washing machine.

 

Then I’ll be able to help.

 

======

 

The next time he calls Raven is one week later. He tries to tell himself that this time really doesn’t count.  After all, he’s held things together for a week. That’s practically an accomplishment. He really should celebrate it, according to this therapist, instead of magnifying everything that he didn’t manage to get right and ruminating on that..

 

He takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself even as he punches in Raven’s number.

 

_This has to be the last time.  Make it count Charles._

 

“Raven. David has officially declared all sandwiches anathema.”

 

“Oh really.”

 

“Well actually he said that he never wants me to make him any sort of sandwich again. Which was probably the largest number of joined up words he’s actually said to me since accidentally outing his budding telepathy. I don’t know. I said I’d not eavesdrop but sometimes, it’s terrible. I’m terrible.”

 

“Charles. Snap out of it. What did you do? What happened with the sandwiches?”

 

“I don’t know. I tried chicken ham which he said was dry. I tried tuna mayo which he said smelt funny by lunch time. There was a brief flirtation with grilled cheese which was a disaster. So for the last three days I’ve been making ham and cheese sandwiches. Which he has pretty much officially announced that doesn't want anymore. I have half a mind to pack him Froot Loops.”  

 

_Good. Keep with the humor. Keep things light. You got this Charles._

 

“God. How are you not on the internet already?”

 

“Because the router short circuited. I was meaning to get a new one over the weekend but between ferrying David to baseball practice and then to the emergency…”

 

_Shit. He didn’t mean to let that slip. But it’s too late._

 

“What happened this time? Arrgh. Screw that. I’m coming over.”

 

She hangs up before he can marshal any sort of rebuttal.  As he sags into his chair, surveying the barely controlled chaos that has taken over his house, he wonders what he may have gotten himself into this time.

 

======

 

When Raven arrives twenty minutes later, she takes one look at the mess of dishes in the sink, the piles of papers lying around and mutters something about how men are idiots but her brother may well be the biggest one of all.

 

“Also. When did that ugly cardigan that you’re still wearing develop dark blue patches?”

 

“Oh. David tried to help with the laundry.” Charles laughs ruefully. “That is probably the only thing about the mess that is my life that isn’t entirely my fault. Even if it probably is.” Even as he says it he blinks hard and swallows. His eyes burn and his throat feels tight...

 

She glares at him, and he opens his mouth to explain how his brain doesn't really work right anymore and that his mental filters are probably faulty.

 

Then suddenly, all the breath is squeezed out of him as he is pulled into a bone crushing hug, whatever apologies he might have framed coming out as an undignified squeak. In that moment, Raven’s mind radiates a bright, calm competence that is above all so familiar that Charles feels his waves of anxiety and pent up frustration temporarily recede.

 

“You could have called earlier. I’ve got some time before Az finishes his shift,” she says as she steps back and starts rolling up her sleeves, “ so let me come in and we’ll see what we can do about this.”

 

======

 

Dear Diary.

 

Well. Laundry didn't work out the way I thought it would. Well done, David. Like get a grip or something.

 

Sometimes I get the feeling that he’s really not listening at all.  Like I didn’t actually say that I didn’t want sandwiches ever. I just didn’t want him to have to spend so much time on me.  Because I want to stay here a while longer.

 

Because I like Dad.

 

Because he gives me space. And he doesn’t nag as much as Mum.

 

Even if he can’t make a grilled cheese sandwich without smoking out the kitchen.

 

I hate to say this, but he is a bit of a slob compared to Mum. But at least he tries.

 

I wish he were less sad.  

 

I want to stay.

 

======

 

He’s been set to work washing up while his sister bustles around, tidying away the clutter to open up access routes for his wheelchair.

 

Over the sound of the dishes, he says, “You know. You don’t actually have to do this.”

 

“Helping my trainwreck of a brother kick his life into shape? Or this.”  Raven gestures and shimmers into a black and white maid outfit, complete with ruffles and flounces and stockings.

 

That gets her a teary chuckle. “Both actually.”

 

“Tell me what happened to David.  You can do the,” and she wiggles her fingers near her head giving him permission, “if it's easier.”

 

 _ <Oh yes. Thank you.> _ The image of what happened is already rising in his mind.  

 

“He managed to get smacked in the face by another kid’s bat.”

 

_ <We waited like five hours for tissue glue.> _

 

A fleeting look of pain and sympathy crosses Raven’s face “You could have said something.”

 

“Actually. The worst bit wasn’t the blood.”

 

 _ <Or the crying. Or the hundreds of cranky kids crying in the waiting area. Or the parents stalking up and down trying to get their kids seen faster. Or the general oppressive atmosphere of too many bloody minds in one damn area babbling and babbling…> _The barely controlled chaos, complete with the attendant nausea inducing headache floods back.

 

“Oh Charles.” Raven looks ill even as he clamps down on that memory. 

 

“It was just that when the doctor tried to apply the tissue glue, David wouldn’t hold still.”

 

_ <So. I kind of. Nudged him a little. Because of that, they kept him for observation. But he was asleep. God, I feel so guilty. And I’m tired of feeling guilty. And despite the fact that I knew the atmosphere was hell for telepaths and that I should have been shielding him or something, towards the end of the night, when the observation room quietened down, I must have drifted off too.> _

 

 _“_ I don’t know. I’m a terrible parent.” Charles’ voice is barely a whisper but it carries in the silence.

 

“For someone with a full time job and a telepathic kid, you’re doing fine. If you left it to me,” Raven barks out a laugh. “I would have bailed a long time ago.”

 

“For someone with an ability to read minds, I haven't even figured out what my son wants to eat for lunch,” Charles mutters, a wry grin on his face.

 

“That’s because in addition to being a telepath you’ve also tied your powers up in all manner of ethical red tape.”

 

“Raven…” Charles raises an eyebrow but doesn’t continue.  Raven looks at him critically, and Charles feels her noting the dark circles beneath his eyes and the hollows below his cheeks.

 

“In all the time I’ve known you, never once have you not taken me up on that issue.  Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

“I’m... just tired I guess.”  He cracks a wan smile.

 

“You know what, just leave the dishes to drip dry, we’ll swing by the supermarket and see if we can’t find something David will eat.”

 

_ <Thank you Raven.> _

 

======

 

Dear Diary.

 

I’ve got a scar now.  Almost like Harry Potter.  Only it’s not lightning shaped. And it was because of a stupid accident.

 

The emergency room was horrible. Covering my ears didn’t help. The cut wasn’t as painful as the noise in my head though.  I was trying to cooperate with the doctor but it was like everything was too bright, too loud, too much.

 

Dad did something I think.  It helped lots. I tried to tell him that, but he wasn’t listening I think.  Like he was there. But not.

 

I don’t understand grown ups.

 

But the point was, I wasn’t spacing out when I got hit. I was looking at one of the kids peeling open and then assembling a packaged lunch.

 

I think it was called Lunchables.

 

The idea hit me like the apple that fell on Newton. Like an explosion of stars.  Or like a baseball bat.

 

It’s gotta be worth a try. Plus, I might be able to stockpile it if I’m ever turfed out.

 

======

 

“Charles.” Raven gestures him over to a packaged food display. “How about something like this? I mean, minus the fact that it’s probably processed past the point it can actually spoil if left out in the heat.”

 

Charles eyes the blue and silver packages thoughtfully.  “I guess it’s worth a try. Worst case I’ll pack it with me if he doesn’t like it.”

 

“Anything at this point would be preferable to Froot Loops?” Raven teases, an eyebrow raised.

 

“I am not dignifying that with a reply.”  Charles huffs.

 

_ <Anyway I’m almost out of cereal. Last meal tomorrow, thank goodness.> _

 

======

 

Dear Diary,

 

I think Dad buying that Lunchable pack was probably pure coincidence.  It’s not like my telepathy works that well half the time anyway.

 

The sandwich is not bad.  I could get used to eating this.  Plus it probably saves him some time.

 

If I can eat this, he won’t have a reason to leave.  

 

PS: I saw another kid eating the same thing at school today. I think he saw me watching.  Or rather I heard him think that he saw me watching, but then the lunch bell rang and we all had to go back to class.  

 

It's very hard not to hear everyone sometimes.    

 

======

 

“Raven, it’s Charles.  We had a minor incident when grocery shopping today.  When I say minor, I mean that a grouchy man threw a positively incandescent fit at me.  To be fair, I may have accidentally run into him with the motorized wheelchair, but mostly he was angry about what I was feeding David.  

 

He stormed off after shoving his business card at me.  It seems he owns some kind of diner. It seems he has the genius plan of taking it upon himself to teach me so that so help him, “no poor child will ever have to kill brain cells eating that rubbish ever again.”  There was more invective, mostly concerning the meat or lack thereof in these products but. I’m sure you don’t need to know that.

 

I know you’re off somewhere delightfully foreign with Azazel.  So you’re probably not actually going to get this voicemail. I’m not even sure what time it is where you are.  Because you didn’t actually tell me where you are. I’m sorry if I woke you up.

 

But.  I think it helps me at least to talk.  If not “to”, then at least “at”, someone.

 

Love you lots.”

 

======

 

Five minutes later, there’s a terse text message: [Great.  Cooking is a life skill you could afford to learn.]

 

Two minutes after that: [Az recognizes that diner.  The food’s not bad. He’s never seen the owner though.]

 

Two minutes after that, his phone beeps again with: [If he does turn out to be a psychopathic murderer, text me and I’ll get Az to avenge you.]

 

Charles rolls his eyes and texts back: [Wonderful. If you don’t hear from me in the next few days, I may well have turned into the lunch special.  In which case, you are not to feed me to David. Not even by mistake.]

 

There’s a moment of silence before Raven replies: [You dolt.  You’re too skinny at the moment. Even I wouldn’t eat you and I'm your sister.]

 

======

 

Dear Diary.  

 

Dad came back from his first lesson with Angry Man.

 

He’s brought home a neatly wrapped turkey sandwich which he says is for my lunch tomorrow.

 

It’s now in the fridge.  

 

We’ve now also got an insulated lunchbox to keep it cool.

 

We’ll see what happens tomorrow.

 

======

 

PS: The sandwich is good!  The lunchable boy looked a little disappointed when I pulled out my lunch. So I offered to swap him half.

 

======

 

“I never knew cooking could be relaxing actually.” Charles muses, the cordless phone handset cradled against his neck.

 

“I never knew brothers could talk so much.” Raven sniggers as she continues, “You are so like a girl sometimes.”

 

“It probably doesn’t help that Erik’s a mutant too.” And Charles was realising quite a good looking one.  In a rugged, stubbly sort of way. Maybe Raven had a point.

 

“He’s a mutant?”

 

“Magnetic field manipulation.  I mean, the spoons and knives and whisks practically dance to his will.  And the pots practically stir themselves. Plus he’s possibly the only person I’ve met who even tries to talk politics with me these days.  If albeit with a pro mutant slant.”

 

“Charles.  If I read you right, he’s the only one you’re talking to besides me and David. I think your sample size may be somewhat limited?”  

 

“Well, there are the people at work.”

 

“Who have historically treated you, and I quote, “like the plague, but more politely”, since they found out you were a telepath?”  Raven sighs theatrically, “I do not for one believe that you, no matter how saintly you may think yourself to be, are actually on talking terms with the ones who, and I quote, “think you’re going to snoop on all their private thoughts from ten cubicles away”?”

 

“It’s not that bad.  I mean. Some of them do say hello.  I’ve just been adopting a policy of active avoidance these days.”  

 

“Anyway, back to Erik, I take it his personality is equally magnetic?”

 

There’s no reply for a bit as Charles sighs into the phone.  

 

“He kissed me the other day.”  His soft confession is washed out by Raven’s excited squealing.

 

When the noise dies down, he continues, “You know he even accepts David. Accepts that I have a mutant son. Accepts the wheelchair. Accepts that I’m not exactly and probably will never be unencumbered anymore. And he still kissed me.”

 

“You’re getting disgustingly sappy and maudlin over the phone, Charles.”

 

He ignores her teasing, murmuring. “I think I might. I don't know... but I might just be… You have to understand that this is just me testing a hypothesis… But I might be a wee bit smitten.”

 

“Well done. Congratulations. I’ve always known you weren’t just into women.”  

 

“RAVEN? WHAT? HOW?”

 

=======

 

Dear Diary,

 

Lunch continues to be good.  The kids are getting envious of my lunches.  And they all pretty loud about it.  So I’ve asked Dad to slice the sandwiches into quarters to trade with the others.

 

The other thing is Dad is much happier.  

 

I think it’s the cooking classes with the Angry Man.  

 

Dinners are becoming more edible too. I like Dad’s spaghetti.

 

I’m worried about the future.  But also happy. Because Dad is really much nicer when he’s happy.

 

...

 

PS: I have to write this down because I can’t let him pick this out of my head and who knows what I may or may not be projecting.

 

What if he leaves with the other guy. And turfs me back to Mum.

 

…

 

I might not get to write this down, but I’ll make sure to remember and do it later.  

 

My head feels fuzzy.  Dad got all worried when he looked at me and said that I had to stay home from school.  

 

I’m so tired.

 

======

 

It’s been ten minutes and Charles is still trying to explain himself. “It’s just soup, Erik.  David is sick and I thought some hot chicken soup would help.”

 

“Canned soup is full of preservatives.  Don’t even get me started on the battery farmed chickens they use. They’re probably stuffed full of antibiotics and hormones and heaven knows what else.”

 

“Brilliant. So it will help with his flu.”

 

“Fine.” Erik growls “Buy your tinned abominations. But ”

 

Charles wisely hangs up before Erik continues with his speechified rant on the evils of processed food.

 

After some consideration he decides on the version which claims to have less salt. As he’s gathering the tins into his basket his phone vibrates violently nearly making him drop everything in alarm.

 

It’s a text from Erik that reads: [Just swing by at some point and I’ll show you how to make real chicken soup.]

 

======

 

“Dad?  Are you angry with me?”

 

“Why would you say that?”

 

“Because you came in and your mind was all spiky and I thought…”

 

_ <I thought you might be angry with me.> _

 

“No. I’m really just worried about you David. Really. And. I think you’re projecting. Quite loudly.”

 

_ <Am I a bother? Is that it?> _

 

“No you’re not. Why would you think that? And you’re still projecting. I think maybe the fever is back.  When you get better I'm going to have to teach you how to shield.” Charles makes as if to leave but David clings to him, resting his fevered brow against his chest and pushing thoughts and images at him so loudly and desperately it almost hurts.

 

_ <Is that why Mum left? Because of me? I can help. I can make my own sandwiches. Just. Don’t go as well?> _

 

Charles is stunned, lost in the torrent of thoughts. Then it clicks into place. The reticence. The attempts at independence. The helping around the house.

 

He projects as much calm as possible.

 

_ <David. Listen to me. I’m not leaving. Ever.> _

_._

Then he lowers his own shields. Call up the memory of what Erik had said to him over their first dinner date. The gratifying acceptance in Erik’s voice.  

 

 _ <Look for yourself.> _He projects, as he cards his fingers through his son’s sweat soaked hair.

 

He continues to project reassurance and calm, even as he rubs soothing circles over David’s back as the boy sobs against him, a dam keeping everything inside having given way at last.

 

_ <I’m not leaving you. Ever.> _

 

======

 

Dear Diary,

 

We went to the supermarket and bought a pack of premix.  Dad said he’d have a cake for me when I got back.

 

I can’t quite place it but this cake.  Does not give me a good feeling.

 

PS: Right now, when I think hard about Dad, he feels more relaxed.  Also, there’s a presence in the house that feels like Angry Man has stepped in.  This has to be a good thing right?

 

======

 

 _ <David?> _ A tentative thread of thought brushes against my new mental shields while I’m at the community center. It’s funny when Dad talks to me this way. Funny but cool.  Also, it’s become way more natural, I can almost carry on with whatever I’m doing while I talk to Dad like this. Plus, its way easier than texting.

 

_ <Yes Dad?>  _

 

<We may have company for your birthday celebration later, if that’s ok?> A feeling of uncertainty.

 

_ <I know Angry Man is with you Dad, I can feel him there> _

 

 _ <Oh. I see.> _ Embarrassed amusement, like a rush of blood to the head. _< Would you like to meet him?> _

 

Just thinking about how much more satisfied Dad has been over the past few weeks, it doesn’t take me long to reply _ <Sure, Dad.> _

 

_ <I’ll ask him to stay then.  Don’t come back too late, we’ve got cake and everything.> _

 

======

 

I sense them waiting, as I approach the house.  There’s a palpable tension in the air and I’m not entirely sure why.  If what I sensed from Dad’s memories are correct, Angry Man is probably the best thing to happen to Dad since, I don’t know.  

 

I smile shyly as I push the door open and mentally push some of what I was thinking at Dad. From the surprised look on Angry Man’s face, it looks like might have I pushed a bit too hard.  

 

_ <Oops. Sorry> _

 

“Angry Man?” He flashes me a toothy grin before huffing out, “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

 

“Oh. David.  This is Erik.  Erik, my son, David.”

 

“Telepaths huh.”  He knees down to look me in the eye.  Hi, David.”

 

_ <You don’t mind?> _

 

“No.” He gestures casually and the spare change from the bowl near the door comes spinning into his hand.”

 

 _ <Cool.  Will you stay with us?> _I laugh, enchanted by the spinning coins. Both the adults wince and then Dad smirks ruefully.

 

_ <David? What did I tell you about indoor voices?> _

 

 _ <Oops.> _ “Sorry about that.”

 

But Erik looks serious as he answers.  “I’ll stay, as long as your Dad will have me.”

 

“Great!  I’ll make sure to wish for it when I cut my cake!”

 

Erik straightens up, arching a questioning eyebrow at Charles who gives him a look that clearly says don’t look at me. I didn’t do anything except tell him you were here.  

 

======

 

As they’re washing up after the party, he murmurs into Charles’ ear,  “Telepaths, you lot are more trouble than you’re worth.”

 

Charles murmurs back.  “Please stay. I’ll be sure to make it worth your while.”

 

_ <And I promise to stay out of it!> _

 

They both spin around in a whirl of suds to see David watching them from the door, an embarrassed look on his face.  

 

_ <Okay.  I think I’ll go do my homework.  And work on shielding. Don’t mind me, have a good night?> _


End file.
